


waking up to ash and dust

by Lizzen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 07:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14539197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Peter Parker is gone but not without leaving a mark. Not without changing a man.Written Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1





	waking up to ash and dust

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled deciding whether or not to tag this underage as underage sex **does not** occur in this fic. But! It is discussed? Proceed, if you will, with that notice!  <3

**I.**

It’s easy to break out of prison when half the guards are gone. It’s even easier to break into Stark’s place when nobody gives a shit. Bigger fish to fry right now with half the population lost.

It helps since Potts disintegrated, he’s seen the footage.

He’s tinkered with enough tech that he capably convinces the house that he’s a guest. And the house rolls out the red carpet.

Before the inconvenience of being incarcerated, Adrian’s been accustomed to nice things; but there’s nice and there’s Stark _nice_. Something cleans the house that’s half roomba half something from the Jetsons. The clothes fit. Plenty of food in the kitchen. Drink in the bar. Power and water galore. No one to bother him. He puts his feet on the coffee table and waits.

*  
_i’m trying to save you,_ he hears echoed in his dreams and wakes up in a cold sweat. Wakes up with his heart aching.

*  
It’s raining one day when there’s a headline, THOR RETURNS WITH TONY STARK, and hours later, the door opens. With a cheery sound, the house says, “sir, your guest is in the living room.”

“My _what_ \--” Adrian hears Stark say and he hopes, _god_ , he hopes, to hear another voice behind him. Instead--

Stark alone fills his vision; he looks like a tired old man. A shadow of what you see on screens. Adrian appreciates this moment; appreciates that Stark is actually human.

Recognition alights Stark’s weary eyes, and he opens his mouth but Adrian beats him to the punch--

“Where’s Peter?” he asks, hoarse. He meant to say something rougher, cruel even, but the truth of the matter is this: he only cares about one thing.

A white color fills Stark’s face until he looks almost ashen. Something thuds in Adrian’s heart, something dark and awful.

Stark clears his throat, makes a wry smile. “What’s up, birdie, you wanna go for another round?” Stark says, easy. A glorious act. “Peter’s an Avenger now. I dubbed him thusly, and that means he’s--”

“Where’s Peter?” he repeats. “Iron Man and Spider-Man chased down that ship. But only Iron Man’s come back,” he says, dangerous.

One of Stark’s hands becomes a fist but he says: “Drink? Because I’m going to drink.” He meanders over to the bar and picks up a bottle, admires it, and pours a glass. “You want to kill him or something? Because that’s unique for you,” he says. “Why the interest in underoos? We’re all a little busy here.”

“Busy losing.”

Taking a sip, Stark looks away. And Adrian finds him haggard in that moment. Something horrible happened, and he feels his rage grow dark in his belly.

The rebuttal is quiet. “Busy figuring out a way to get him back.”

Closing his eyes, Adrian breathes in, focusing in on the words, in on the truth. The horrible reality they all live in now. “You failed him, didn’t you? And you lost him.”

Stark chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah I did, and what’s it to you if I did? Did you not collapse a building on the boy once? You’re hardly his number one fanboy.”

Adrian opens his eyes. Stares him down. “He would have done anything for you, Stark,” Adrian says, feeling blind. Feeling hate. “Live for you, die for you. He would have let you fuck him for all I know.”

There’s a long pause before: “Excuse me?”

The rougher, crueler part of him unfurls. “That sweet mouth stretched over your dick, god, it must have felt nice. Your fingers in that hair. Those plaintive eyes looking up at you like you’re a fucking--” he says.

“You’re clearly upset,” Stark interrupts.

“You’re _clearly_ not upset enough,” Adrian shoots back.

Stark raises a hand, palm up. He’s shaking a little, and he stands there for a moment before: “I don’t have time for this. What kind of skin do you have in this game? Nothing. You’re nothing. So why are you here?”

There’s something angry and wet in his eyes, and he hates it. “You fucked up everything in my life before this. And you fucked him, you fucked him up. Dressed him up, wound him up, and watched him go. He’s gone and it’s because of you.” And now he can’t stop. “He wrote to me. In prison. Regularly. Even my family don’t do that. But Peter did. Always optimistic. An update or two. Kind. You couldn’t even let me have him, just a little softness in my life.”

He can’t swallow down the last bit of his rage, the last bit of his longing, and it tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it. “He was too good a kid and you didn’t deserve him.”

“I didn’t,” Stark says immediately, and too fast. Slower, now: “And I failed him.”

The confession seeps into him, entwines around this heart. It’s not a comfort, but it helps.

After all, it’s what he came for.

“You’re Iron Man,” he says, getting to his feet. Eyes his bug-out bag. “You figure it out. Or I will come for you.”

Stark huffs. “You’ll keep me honest, will you?”

“Someone has to,” Adrian says, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

It’s sudden as it happens: Stark gets close, closer than Adrian likes. “You know. When I get him back--”

“--If,” Adrian interrupts, cold.

“--He’ll come for you,” Stark says, an evenly stated threat. “And he won’t be alone this time.”

The grin on Adrian’s face grows so wide, it hurts. “Good.”

 

 

 **II.**  
The sun is shining when the lost souls begin to return. It’s a shock, each one appearing out of nowhere. Shrieking and crying, laughing and shaking all over. They don’t all come back at once. Liz doesn’t return for a full 24 hours, and it takes twice that time for Adrian to find out.

So he doesn’t expect, doesn’t--

There’s a beep in his bag, and he pulls out something, something Stark must have left in there. Something that activated without him because--

The universe did exact a cost.

The device says: “PARKER. SAFE.” Must be attuned to something in the suit; the suit must be back, and in it--

He rips out his phone. Looks at the number he stole from Stark’s house. He dials it and holds his breath.

“Yes, hi,” is the voice at the end of the phone. “This is Peter.” He sounds breathless. He must have so many questions. He must be so upset. Need a comforting voice.

But Adrian’s waited too long to say anything because Peter says suddenly, and with too much hope in his voice: “Is this Mr. Stark? Only Mr. Stark has this number. Mr. Stark, is that you?”

“Wrong number,” he says quietly and hits end.

And he feels lighter than he’s felt in months.

 

 

 **III.**  
Adrian knows where the grave is; it’s practically a shrine. And he knows Peter will be there.

It’s the anniversary, after all.

He watches behind the treeline as Avengers come and go, pay their respects. Hold each other. He doesn’t quite feel for them; Stark being Stark he must have fucked them all over now and then. Captain America spends a long time until the one with the metal arm tugs him away. Adrian lingers until it’s just Peter, looking so small in front of that sleek headstone. It’s just Peter and he’s holding himself so still; still enough that Adrian knows he’s holding back the waterworks.

(What Adrian doesn’t know: Peter and grief are old friends.)

When he approaches, Peter turns as if warned, turns and looks with the bold face of an Avenger, not a sad young man. It’s impressive. Adrian lifts his hands and that seems to do the trick.

Peter’s face falls. “Mr. Toomes,” he says, hoarse. “How’ve you been?” His voice is lower and there’s a leanness to him. He’s almost eighteen now, but it’s experience, not years, that have aged him. The glint in his eye is sharp, and there’s a hardness to his jaw. Adrian’s not sure how he feels about it, about some of that softness being hammered out of the kid.

“You miss him?” he says, gesturing to the grave, grossly opulent on a late April morning. “Stark?”

Peter tilts his head to the side, watching him carefully. Doesn’t answer.

Adrian was never a good man, and he’s forgotten how to pretend to be one. “You know, people wondered about you and him. What a guy like Stark could want from a kid like you."

The frown begins slow, and then fills Peter’s entire face. “Nobody wondered.” His jaw tightens. “Except you, apparently.”

“You still weep at his grave,” Adrian says. “Shit father figure, shittier mentor. Broke the world wide open.”

“He didn’t--” Peter says, too sharp. And he composes himself. Looks like an Avenger again. “What do you want, Mr. Toomes?”

There’s a threat there, and Adrian appreciates it. He’s not a boy anymore.

It’s strange how the words tumble out, he doesn’t mean to say them: “He said you’d come for me. You haven’t.” It’s hurt a little, but curiosity is the deeper cut.

Peter sniffs, hums. Doesn’t answer. Adrian watches him, watches as Peter closes off. Looks blank.

It’s an opening. A smile alights his face. He pushes in. “So, a guy has been talking to me about a new team, something sinister, and I wonder--” Adrian wonders if that will make him pay attention again. Make him relevant to Peter again.

“Octavius?” Peter interrupts. “We have an eye on him.” He pauses, and something slips. He looks almost kind. “We’ve-- I’ve had an eye on you too.”

“Like what you see?”

“You’re not a threat,” he says quietly. “Maybe you will be, maybe I’m crazy for not taking you in. But--” and he shrugs. “The world is more interesting with you at large.”

“I’m a bad guy, Pete,” he says and not without some pride.

“I know.”

He looks at Peter’s lips, pink and pale and slightly parted; his face growing soft, almost fond. Despite everything, the kid looks _fond_. And something mean and covetous comes to mind, makes him tremble a little with the wanting of it. He grabs Peter’s chin with one hand, strong, and Peter’s startled. The grip tightens and he tilts Peter’s face to the side. Peter sucks in a breath. It would be too easy, and taste sweet.

There’s something fragile, something delicate in Peter’s eyes. A lack of fight in this pose. And Adrian, a possessive creature to the last, wonders if Stark ever saw that. Saw this. This-- this beautiful submission.

And his heart shifts, just a little, just enough.

Letting go, he takes a step back. Feels soothed for the first time in an age. “See you around, kid.”

He walks away, walking towards something he can reach; the future. And he hears: “‘Till the next,” Peter says, quiet but loud enough to hear, and it’s a promise-- a promise to rely on.

At the treeline, he turns; a brief and telling look. Peter hasn’t turned, hasn’t turned back to stare at the grave. Peter’s gaze is fixed.

And Adrian smiles.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% th_esaurus’ fault; she wrote many emotional beats and workshopped it with me a lot. Fickle_Obsessions also gets love for tolerating us through this rollercoaster.
> 
> And yes, it’s tagged pre-slash because Adrian/Peter is my life’s blood, and you should read my fic (with Peter all properly aged up!!), [let’s go back to the start](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485245) because oh my goddd this pairing.


End file.
